


you will soothe my worried looks

by orphan_account



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: F/F, Getting Together, Realism in that love doesn't fix mental health issues, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9642680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Amanda is leaning against the wall, grin unfitting for the parking lot of a mental health clinic. "Pizza?"“So I’m just here to pay for your food?”Amanda grins, nudging their shoulders together. “Basically.”Farah rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless.-Farah sees a therapist. It's a strange journey, but not one she needs to take alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ingrid Michaelson's "You and I"

“So how’d it go with the shrink?”

Amanda is leaning against the wall, grin unfitting for the parking lot of a mental health clinic.

“Um, not great. What’re you doing here?” Farah asks, stopping just in front of the wall. Amanda is dressed in full biker gear, despite having never owned a motorbike. Farah is not complaining; the leather clings to the other woman’s slender frame nicely.

“Came for moral support. And because I’ve got nothing else to do today, and no money to pay for my own pizza. You coming?” She pushes off of the wall and tilts her head to the pizza joint not far down the road. Farah pauses, before nodding. They fall into step easily.

“So I’m just here to pay for your food?”

Amanda grins, nudging their shoulders together. “Basically.”

Farah rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless.

-

“I just don’t know if this is working.”

“I think you’re doing just fine, Farah,” the bespectacled woman smiles, setting aside the clipboard gently and crossing one leg over the other with ease. It’s such a therapist position Farah nearly screams – so cool, closed off, impassionate. Unconsciously, she mimics it.

“Thanks.”

It’s a lie, and they both know it. Farah is just as closed off as she was in their first session, just as unwilling to give over control as she always has been. There is a rational voice deep in the recesses of her mind that tells her she’s being ridiculous; these sessions aren’t cheap, so why not use them properly? Then again, she’s technically a millionaire now. Maybe it’s okay to waste a few grand on therapy sessions and not admit she still struggles getting up every day.

It’s not like she’s going to spend the money on something else.

“I won’t make you continue our meetings, but it’s important to remember this is only out second session – these things don’t change overnight.” The doctor is calm, placid, and it is fucking infuriating. Farah offers a tight smile.

“Okay.”

The silence rings in her ears, neither woman willing to break it for a moment.

“So, were you able to take my advice and start that journal?” Dr. Renst asks, face benign. The reading she’s been doing tells Farah that this is a mechanism, part of the therapy process; therapists have to be bland and blank, so their patients – _clients_ – can project the true source of their problems onto this canvas. Farah figures this only works when the client does not obsessively purchase and read psychology textbooks to stay one step ahead.

“No. I- I don’t really have time.” A lie. “It’s a little strange to write things out, and my thoughts aren’t always that… linear. “ Lie. “But I want to.” The biggest lie so far.

“That’s okay. No pressure. But I do think it would be good for you.”

Farah grits her teeth. She _wants_ to be yelled at, _wants_ to be told to get her ass into gear and start the damn journal. “Okay.”

 

When she leaves the clinic, Amanda is once again waiting for her. She blinks. “Hey!”

“Hey,” Amanda shoots back, pushing off the wall with a smirk. “Sticking with the shrink, huh?”

“Not for long,” Farah rolls her eyes. “It’s not helping; if anything, it makes me more stressed out because I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong. Maybe I’m broken, or maybe there’s nothing even wrong with me in the first place so there’s nothing to-“

“Hey.”

A warm hand rests on her arm, radiating through the denim. Farah stops dead and whips her head around to look at Amanda, who has the slightest frown on her face.

“You’re not broken, but it takes time. I’m not gonna say you have to go, because it won’t work if you’re being forced but dude, you really should give it more than two hours before writing yourself off as an unfixable nutcase.” She pauses. “Okay, the last word was… problematic but you get my gist.”

Farah sighs, but nods defeatedly. She’ll come by next week. What else would she do now?

“So, pizza or Chinese?” The frown is gone from Amanda’s face, and she’s smiling warmly, though her hand is yet to leave Farah’s arm. Her stomach churns with butterflies.

“Chinese.”

“You’ll pay?”

“Of course.”

-

She starts the journal.

-

The next session is not much better, but it _is_ better. Slowly, week by week, Farah feels herself become more at ease with talking to this woman, and writing in her journal every night. It’s nice, clearing the thoughts out of her head like she’s spring-cleaning – she feels… cleaner. The sessions become less tense and restrictive, organic conversations rather than readings from a script. It’s going well, and the more she employs coping strategies – count to two hundred in Chinese, ‘ _This too shall pass’_ , seventeen times-tables, cyclical breathing while looking at a GIF of a cat – and actually listens to the thoughts in her head, the less she feels like she’s going to combust.

And after each session, Amanda is waiting on the wall, smiling that smile like she’s so proud of Farah – for what? Crying in an office for an hour? They go for pizza, or Chinese, or sometimes just for a walk, when Amanda isn’t hungry or in the mood for fast food.

It’s going... okay. Until-

-

“You seem to have a few conflicting feelings about relationships. Would you like to discuss that?”

“No.” That shuts her up. Farah doesn’t have conflicting thoughts about anything. “I- We don’t need to discuss that part of my life. I don’t have any conflicting feelings about my sexuality. Or relationships. Or anything.”

The therapist nods blandly, but doesn’t drop the subject. “We don’t need to talk about anything you don’t want to.” Her drawl is maddening. Initial feelings of anxiety swirl in her stomach, the words taking her straight back to the first session, crossed legs and all.

Farah resists the urge to rise from her chair and leave the room yelling and causing a scene. She resists the urge to cry and throw chairs. She resists the urge to break down here and now and curl up in a tiny, tiny ball on the floor because _it’s not fair_ and _doesn’t she have enough to deal with_ and _I can’t do this._

She’s so tired of keeping this to herself.

“I think I’m a lesbian.”

The words are simultaneously boulders, dropping heavily into the silence, and birds, freeing Farah of a weight she didn’t know she’d even been carrying.

The therapist nods. “Okay. And how does that make you feel?”

The silence is almost painful, but Farah can’t find the words to fill it. “Scared.”

“Why?”

Again, a pause. Now the silence is the boulder, the weight of it crushing her, and Farah has to stand, move to the window because suddenly she can’t breathe. Her lungs are tight and her head is screaming for her to leave. She doesn’t. From here, she can see the parking lot, and the wall on which Amanda is already sitting. The session has at least another fifteen minutes to go, and yet her friend is already waiting, probably playing that stupid fruit game on her phone – with the swords and the sound effects that make Farah laugh to watch. She takes a sharp breath in and turns away.

“There’s this friend of mine, and I think I might… hm. Be attracted to her. And I don’t know if she- if she-“

“Likes girls?” Dr. Renst offers, ever the clinician as she takes notes.

“Yes. I don’t want to ruin what we have. I like her as a friend and I don’t want to lose that. Ever.”

The doctor nods, and Farah almost screams.

“Tell me what to do! Tell me what she thinks! Why do you always just _sit there_ and nod instead of _helping me know what to do!_ Why are you so- so- unreadable? Why are you so hard to understand? _I just want to know if you like me!”_

An oppressive silence fills the air, and all at once, Farah feels exhausted. She sits in the chair. “I’m sorry. That was unnecessary. I may have… projected.”

For the first time, Dr. Renst gives a smile. “That’s very insightful of you.” Farah winces. “Farah, it’s clear when we talk that you’ve been doing research around therapy. What do you think happened just then?”

Farah swallows the lump in her throat and sighs. “I suspect I… projected my feelings for my friend on to you. I think I’m angry at her, because I can’t read her, but I’m angry at myself for not being able to just _ask_.”

Dr. Renst nods again, but this time, it doesn’t feel so cold. Her voice is gentle as she speaks now. “I can’t tell you what to do, and this is… slightly out of my remit. But if your friend is the one who waits outside each week, I don’t think it would hurt to ask her out for a coffee. A dedicated friend like that won’t drop you on account of a crush.”

“It’s not a cr-“ Farah stops herself. The urge to act defensively quickly dissipates. “I’ll ask her.”

-

“Hey, Amanda.”

“Farah!” The other woman hops off the wall with ease, and makes her way over, waving the phone at her friend’s face. “Look! I unlocked a new sword. It’s super cool, there’s fire when you cut the stuff.” Amanda makes a ninja gesture, and Farah feels that fluttering in her chest as she smiles.

“Looks awesome. Maybe you could show me over a coffee?”

Amanda pauses. The arm holding her phone falls to herself, and Farah feels like her whole body is turning to ice from the inside-out. This was a mistake.

“We’ve not done coffee before. That’s… different. Did you mean it to be different?”

It’s too late now. “Yes. I meant like… like a…”

“A date?” Amanda is bouncing on the balls of her feet now, Farah can feel the energy that radiates from her, but can’t bring herself to meet those honey-brown eyes. “An actual date?”

“If you… were into girls. And maybe me. It’s okay if not.”

“I’m into both. Let’s go.”

Farah whips her head up. “Just like that? No six hours of therapy, no breakdowns, no projecting- you can just come out there and be all _‘I’m into girls’_ and that’s fine?”

Amanda pauses the bouncing, curious. “Yeah. Duh. I’ve always liked girls. Thought you knew and were taking your time.”

Farah shakes her head slowly in disbelief. “I- Wow. Okay. I really overthink, huh?”

“Took you six sessions of therapy to figure that out?” Amanda nudges their shoulders together, and they start to walk, just like that first time except warmer, closer. Something new but deliciously familiar. “That’s a pretty pricy way of coming out.”

“It’s what Lydia would want the money to go to.”

-

“How’ve you been?” Dr. Renst asks.

It’s a tough one; things have been great. Amanda is great. Work is great. She feels… comfortable. But there’s still those panic attacks, still those mornings where the fear of messing it all up is so overwhelming she can’t move, and not even Amanda can stop the oncoming tide of anxiety. She says this, open and honest.

The doctor nods. “It takes time. But you’re doing good. Keep using those coping strategies, and make sure you keep up the journal; you mentioned how well that was working for you.”

Farah nods. “I will. I do like the peace it brings.”

“Good.” Dr. Renst smiles again. “But you’re recognizing the positives in your life now, which is a large step. I can email you some CBT worksheets from a textbook to help with the fear of failure – Davies et al., I think.”

“I’ve already got the text book,” Farah admits, but there’s the hint of a smile there. “What’s the page number?”

Dr. Renst laughs, and gives it. They smile. Farah’s legs are uncrossed.

When she leaves, Amanda is still sitting on the wall. Today, she is wrapped up in a faux-fur lined coat, and a scarf that covers half of her face. Underneath, Farah knows Amanda’s wearing a stolen sweatshirt of hers, one from her training days. It makes her smile, and the sight gives her more warmth inside than the endless layers of wool ever could.

As she spots her, Amanda beams, and hops off the wall. She makes her way over, and an almost-overwhelming wave of contentedness washes over Farah.

“Hey! How’d it go with the shrink?”

Amanda stands on tiptoes to press icy lips to Farah’s cheek, before slipping gloved hands into Farah’s own. The connection is welcome, and Farah smiles.

“It went well. Fancy pizza?”

**Author's Note:**

> I really needed some more Farah/Amanda love - they're on a par with Brotzly as my favourite couple, but I don't write them nearly enough.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, you can see more from me on my [tumblr](http://hippocampers.tumblr.com), where I talk excessively about my life and share pictures of cats. There's a fair amount of Dirk Gently, too.
> 
> Much love to you all, your feedback brings me sunshine and daisies <3


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